


Bad Boy

by AnonymousVow



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, Jailbait Arthur, M/M, Teacher-Student, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-01-26 11:19:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1686455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousVow/pseuds/AnonymousVow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Kirkland is a bad, bad boy who always gets what he wants. And he's decided he wants his new science teacher, Alfred F. Jones. Warnings for dubcon/non-con.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for anonmeme prompt: "Let's have some hot teacher/student or student/teacher lovin' Any pairing, preferably in the senior year when the student is total jail bait. 
> 
> Bonus points for sex in a schoolgirl's outfit, desk sex, and drilling the student for tests in bed.
> 
> Multi-chapter, multiple fills, short pwp, whatever. Let's just have some hotness, anons!"
> 
> Actually, what Arthur will do in this fic is severely illegal, but for the sake of the story I hope you suspend disbelief and judgment. I do not, do NOT, condone this behavior in real life.

Arthur Kirkland was a bad, bad boy.

It had not always been so. Once he had been a tiny cherub with soft sandy hair and big green eyes. He'd loved unicorns and fairies and bunnies. He'd had pretend tea-parties in the garden and he'd wanted to learn how to make cupcakes. He had been sweet. But that did not last long. 

He had been bad ever since the day he had realized that, as the only true-born heir of his father, he had powers and privileges that his older, bigger, stronger (but bastard-born) half-brothers did not. He paid them back for years of bullying, and when that account was paid in full, went beyond and made their lives a misery. His father, so wealthy that the size of his fortune was really more of an abstract concept, was not often at home; none of them had living mothers; and the servants were to a man terrified of offending the ‘young master’. Arthur ruled the household like a young emperor, with cringing vassals and utterly conquered, if resentful, subordinate kings.

This habit of utter dominion over all he surveyed continued when he was sent to the Academy, the school so prestigious that only those so privileged to attend its hallowed halls were even allowed to know it existed. Knowing its full name required a membership on its board of directors. 

Arthur arrived, took one look around, and decided to arrange things to suit him. The teachers, accustomed to instructing famous youth of famous parents, were awed by him. His fellow students feared him. Grades were matters of minor importance to him, as Arthur knew very well that his father would receive his progress report, sign it, and send it back without once registering a single letter of what it said. So, fearing neither man, nor god, nor beast, Arthur Kirkland set about conquering the Academy as he had conquered his home. 

In this way did Arthur come to spend his days lording it over his elders, his teachers, and his peers. He thrashed some, and blackmailed others, and bribed yet more with things he regarded as mere baubles. His impeccable upper-class British accent could be turned, in a trice, into a stream of profanity enough to make London’s worst thugs blink. He drank like a fish, smoked like a chimney, and took drugs now and then as it pleased him. That was not often - not because of any moral outrage, but because he mistrusted the effects on himself, and did not like to rely on others to supply him. 

This was his life for years. It was a pleasant life, to be rich and feared and utterly his own master. His problem was not so much getting things he wanted, as finding new things to want. And then, one day, shortly after Arthur had celebrated his sixteenth birthday, Alfred F. Jones came to the Academy to teach them science, and Arthur’s world was changed utterly. 

*** 

Alfred F. Jones was a curiosity and a wonder. He had the looks of a runway model and the sartorial sense of a hobo. Francis Bonnefoy, heir to the famous Parisian fashion house, mourned aloud and at length over the wasting of such golden good looks on such a fashion-dunce as Jones, who wore mismatched socks, buttoned his shirt up wrong half the time, could not properly tie his tie, and whose favorite piece of attire was a leather jacket that was at least three times older than its American owner - and looked it. 

He talked like a mic dragged across the continental United States; the turns of phrase of a California surfer, followed immediately by New York slang and Brooklyn accents - happiness expressed in slow Texan drawls, and irritation in the clipped Germanic talk of North Dakota rural towns. He explained this by professing a nomadic childhood, spent traipsing all over his beloved United States and engendering a love separate and specific for each state he ever set foot in. His students waited on the edge of their seats for the next shift in his speech.

He acted like an empty-headed fool but - Arthur had hired his private investigators not even a day after Jones arrived - he held a doctorate in aerospace engineering and a host of lesser degrees. NASA, his source told him, for further flavor, had courted Jones rather aggressively and it was only the Academy’s clout that had kept them from putting US government pressure on the young man to join their team. Arthur was impressed - that was a rare thing - with both Jones, and the money the Academy must have spent just to get him to teach the mob of idiots who were Arthur’s schoolmates. Arthur, of course, did not share this information with anyone else, but other people were interested in Jones as well, and inaccurate versions of the information Arthur had acquired began to spread through the halls. 

He was friendly and popular - not in the trying-hard ways of teachers who chased after popularity, for their own egos and for the sake of manipulating their students - but because he genuinely enjoyed the company of the students who, after all, looked hardly any younger than himself, and they genuinely enjoyed his. This might have led to a breakdown in classroom discipline, but Jones clearly knew his stuff, and as clearly was determined to impart it to his students come hell or high water. The students moved from merely liking him to adoring him.

Much to Arthur’s disgust, even he was not immune to Jones’s charm. He had held out impressively long, had erected defenses that no one could claim were less than foreboding. But Jones was concerned about his problem student, Arthur Kirkland, who skipped classes and smoked and cursed at him. He also did not seem the least bit afraid of Arthur. 

So Jones followed him around, constantly chattering at Arthur’s scowling head about everything under the sun, ranging from fluid dynamics to the latest Harry Potter flick to the burgers served at the cafeteria that lunch-time. He hunted Arthur out when the boy wanted to ignore school for a little while, and made that manifestly impossible. He had once or twice physically dragged Arthur to class. 

What he did not do was lecture Arthur on his many sins, nor did he tearfully plead with him to make a man of himself. The only thing he said about the drinking and the smoking was that he preferred Wild Turkey bourbon to all other things, and that raw egg mixed into a glass of tomato juice was good for hangovers. He never spoke about drugs, not even alluding to them, and his silence spoke volumes of how he felt about the whole thing. He did not tell Arthur how science was a vital area of knowledge - instead he spoke with genuine, hand-waving, jumping excitement about the beauty of orbital mechanics, and the awesomeness that was nuclear fusion reactions inside stars.

And one day, Arthur looked up from his especial hidey-hole in the gymnasium cat-walk, drinking bourbon, an unlit cigarette hanging at the corner of his lips, and did not see Jones - Jonesy, his more irreverent classmates had taken to calling him, and Arthur sneered each time they did - dashing into the gym looking for Arthur, and he felt bereft. Where was Jones? Arthur had been missing almost the whole day! He had deliberately boxed Francis, that frog, on the ear at breakfast! Why wasn’t Jones looking for him? Then he realized he felt bereft, and almost swallowed his cigarette in his shock. 

He looked deep in his soul (while coughing up a mouthful of bourbon and a cigarette) and realized certain things. Then his pop-eyed meditation on the soul of Arthur Kirkland, for Arthur Kirkland, by Arthur Kirkland, was interrupted by the rapid tramp-tramp-tramp of Nike-clad feet running into the gym, and Jones caterwauling: “Artiiiiiiie! Come on, you lil’ sonuvagun, where you at? Kirk-kirk-kirky, come on, I’ve got an awesome lesson this afternoon....!”

Great was the joy in Arthur’s heart at that, and equally great was the consternation he felt at that joy. He did not dare raise his head or signal he was there, nor to shout profane things about Jones’ ancestry and sexual appetites as he usually did, but wanted to be left alone to wrestle with his idiotic feelings. 

Jones, however, who seemed to be equipped with the nose of a dog as well as the manners and intelligence of one, found him out, and grabbed him and pulled him to class, chattering excitedly about blowing things up in the lab via the magic of chemical reactions, and discussing aloud the wonderful possibility of setting fire to the wooden desks. 

It was then that Arthur decided what he must do.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur soon discovered that deciding to seduce Alfred Jones did not mean Jones was seduced.

This confused him. It had never happened to him before.

Good-looking, rich, and powerful, generally all Arthur had to do was crook a finger and eager partners would jump into his bed. The real problem was chasing them away after. (That was not much of a problem, Arthur was very good at it. In fact he found it rather fun - more fun, at times, than the sex had been.) 

Jones did not understand why Arthur, who had wrenched away from Jones’ friendly shoulder-pattings and hair-rufflings with scowls and bad language, all of a sudden wanted to ruffle Jones’ hair (it was soft as the downy feathers on Gilbert Weillschmidt’s pet chick) and pat his shoulders in return; and more - to lean against him, to sit close and ask for help with diagramming the make-up of a hydrogen atom, to cluck and make disapproving noises as he unbuttoned Jones’ shirt to do the buttons up again properly, to yank Jones’ head down close to Arthur’s own by his necktie while Arthur tied it the correct way, to get his attention with pokes and grabs rather than with shouts and curses.

 

Jones not only did not understand, he did not even seem to notice the change; he accepted all of Arthur’s actions with the pleased simplicity of a well-petted puppy.

 

It was driving Arthur mad. 

 

***

 

“Well, of course, you silly boy,” purred Francis, who had stopped in to have some of Arthur’s never-ending supply of alcohol. He sipped at a snifter half-full of cognac and continued: “You have bedded boys and girls. Alfred is not a boy nor a girl. He is a _man_ \- a most foolish man, true, but a man nonetheless. Furthermore, he is our teacher. He does not grovel for your approval, as do our undignified schoolmates. He does not even look at you as a potential lover. You are jejune - most callow to his eyes.”

He spoke with the tone of a judge giving judgment. Arthur saw sex as an amusement; Francis saw it as an art and that was why - he was convinced - he would always be above his English friend in its practice and theory. (Francis and Arthur had never slept together; what they had between them, blows and insults and all, was something rare and - neither would admit it on pain of death - needful to their souls, and they did not dare alter it for the sake of cheap pleasure. They each saw how the other treated bed-partners. Besides, it was not as if there was a lack of willing lovers/fuckbuddies for both of them) 

Arthur snarled, “Who said you could call him Alfred?” 

Francis rolled his eyes. “ _That_  is what your concern is? And for your information, my little friend, I have called him that to his face and he does not mind. It was when I was scolding him for what he had allowed to be tied around his neck - a necktie with  _polka dots_ , _mon ami_ , can you credit it? But I tell you, he truly had the audacity to wear such a thing...”

“The devil take the polka-dots, and you too!” Arthur replied, bolting to his feet. He glared at Francis, paced his dorm-room (it was larger and more opulent than a flat at Kensington) with quick, angry steps, and his face was like the dark clouds before a storm. 

Francis looked at Arthur, and saw... many things. And he laughed to himself, quietly, because he predicted a good deal of amusement to be extracted from Arthur in the coming days - and, at the end, either heartbreak or something else, both of which, he thought, would be good for the arrogant little English boy. 

“Don’t laugh, you --!” Arthur shouted when he saw Francis smiling to himself over the cognac. He called Francis many bad names, in English and in deliberately-mangled French, but even calling him a “ _fills day pyoot_ ” did nothing to ruffle Francis’ feathers. 

“We are straying from the point, _mon ami_ ,” Francis interrupted Arthur’s angry explanation of how Francis’ mother had met his father, and what staples of German pornography had been involved. “What I am trying to show you is simply this: if you wish to have M. Jones - see, I do not call him Alfred (even if I could) - if you wish to have that Adonis with the polka-dot ties in your bed, you will need to be more mature about it."

He wagged his finger at Arthur, like a teacher to a naughty pre-schooler. "Show him that you desire him - none of this close-mouthed hinting around - and, moreover, you must show him that you will not be a child about it. You  _have_ been as a child to him - a sulky little child, who must be coaxed and petted into coming to class, who is very rude - as little children are rude - and who must be taken care of. Do not blow your nostrils out like that, Arthur, it is most unattractive. I tell you these things so that you can be helped. He nurses you after you drink too much, and he helps you with the work you ignore in favor of larking about. He defends you in front of the other teachers, and he worries about your health. He has been taking care of you, I say again - he has been  _babysitting_ you. Now you must shift his perception of you, and only then will you have a chance at his dick.”

Having ended his dispensation of sage advice, Francis re-dedicated himself to the enjoyment of the cognac. Whatever else he might say about Arthur - and he did say a lot - the boy knew his drinks. 

Arthur, his face darker than ever, grabbed the bottle of cognac and swigged straight from it, hoping to annoy the more decorous Francis. Babysitter! A sulky child! Arthur’s feelings were hurt, and he did, in fact, sulk. But other thoughts - Francis’s last sentence was very distracting - and the sweet warmth of the cognac soon distracted him, and he fell to musing, his gaze absently fixed on a new bottle of Wild Turkey bourbon displayed prominently in the wet-bar he’d had installed in his room. 

Francis, following his gaze, grinned. “Most unoriginal, Arthur, half-a-dozen students have already given him bottles; Kiku Honda (from the Honda zaibatsu, you know) gave him a crateful of the stuff. You shouldn’t have shouted so loudly that he liked Wild Turkey, else they’d never have known.”

Arthur scowled, about to demand clarification, when he remembered an episode in the dorms - Alfred mildly suggesting that he’d had enough rhum for one night and Arthur yelling back that he was sure Jones would do the same if he had Wild Turkey. 

“And Karpusi - out of the shipping Karpusis - he actually gave him a wild turkey, as in the bird, all plucked and ready for roasting, and suggested sleepily that he have it stuffed with rice and raisins.” 

Arthur’s impressive brows drew together -and then he smirked. “Well, I’m sure he won’t refuse my gift, at any rate.”

Francis regarded him with narrowed eyes and raised brow from over his snifter. Then he shrugged, a movement of surpassingly Gallic elegance. Having advised him, he would now leave Arthur alone to conduct his campaign as he willed. He made a note to advise Erzsébet, the Hungarian girl, to keep her video-camera handy, and a healthy supply of memory cards too. This promised to be  _most_  amusing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur was trying to call Francis a son of a bitch in French.


	3. Sidestory:  From The Files of Erzsebet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short, silly sidestory based on a commenter-anon's remark, this is a transcript of one of AU!Hungary's favorite videos.

Arthur: *drapes himself all over Alfred* Hullo, Professor Jones. *in slow, beautifully British accent*   
  
Alfred: *all smiles XD XD XD * Oh hey, Artie! How's tricks?   
  
Arthur: They're fine, they're fine. *hands roaming over Alfred's chest, pushing his leather jacket off* Oh, professor, look, you've buttoned your shirt up wrong again.  
  
Alfred: Have I? *craning his neck to look at himself*   
  
Arthur: Yes, you have. *very slowly and sensually unbuttoning Alfred's shirt*   
  
Alfred: Ah man, it's a good thing I have you and Francis to remind me about these things. *sheepish grin*   
  
Arthur: *paused at the mention of Francis, but resumes his slow undressing of the professor* Quite.  
  
Alfred: *babbling happily, even lifting his arms to push the jacket off fully and make things easier for Arthur, as easy and unconcerned as a small child being undressed by a nursemaid rather than as a handsome young man being pawed at by another handsome young man* I guess I was in a bit of a hurry this morning. Rushed to dress. I woke up a bit late - I was up late last night, see...  
  
Arthur: *a bit of a bite to his voice* With who?  
  
Alfred: With Augustus P. Cleaver!  
  
Arthur: ...who?  
  
Alfred: He's, like, THE god of astrophysics! He should have won the Nobel Prize for his work with LaGrange points, I swear, he was robbed. Discover Channel was running a marathon on his work! And there was this new interview with him.... XDDDD *excitedly*  
  
Arthur: I...ah...  
  
Alfred: *continues chattering to a disappointed looking Arthur* And then, he proved that the old equations had neglected to take into account the effects of gravitational pull from the moons of Mars....can you imagine, we'd all forgotten that? What a guy!   
  
Arthur: *has completely unbuttoned Alfred's shirt, but is looking discomfited by Alfred's utter ignorance of that fact* Look, professor....  
  
Alfred: And then he...  
  
Arthur: Professor, I...  
  
Alfred: *head comes up as a bell rings* Oooh! There's the bell! Oh man, we're gonna be late. See ya at class this afternoon, Artie! *charges off with his jacket half-off and his chest bared through the unbuttoned shirt*   
  
Arthur: *slumps*


	4. Chapter 4

The first phase of Arthur’s campaign was what he called ‘tactical reconnaissance’, and what Francis - aiding and abetting nonetheless - called ‘being as bad as one of those loathsome reporters’. He hired the school’s resident expert on cyberwarfare, an Estonian named Eduard who, it was reported, practically lived in the school's computer lab.

When Arthur explained what he wanted, Eduard had at first refused. Like most of the student population, he was rather fond of their new science teacher, and wanted no part of spying on him. Eduard only consented when Arthur promised that, firstly, Alfred would come to no harm (Arthur intended the very opposite) through his actions, and secondly, that Arthur would use his not-inconsiderable influence to make sure Eduard’s young cousin, Raivis, was transferred out of a certain class shared by a certain Russian.

 

However, Eduard had to return to Arthur with no success to report. He confessed that Alfred’s laptop, which had the exterior of a child’s toy, small and shiny and covered with glow-in-the-dark stickers, had the interior of the computer equivalent of a Bugatti Veyron. He babbled, with the air of the shell-shocked, of custom firmware and biometrics-based security measures, of motherboards and chipsets he’d never seen before, and expandable bays beyond reasonable number, until Arthur bade him be silent.

 

Eduard went back, however, when Arthur reminded him that Raivis would stay in the same class until he got results. In the end, he got what he wanted by having his friend Timo distract Professor Jones with a question, while Eduard sneaked to the already-logged-into laptop and hurriedly copied all the files he could into a flash-drive. It was a most unwieldy way to get the information, and it hurt Eduard’s self-esteem, but he did get it done.   
  
Arthur received the flash-drive with thanks, and a promise to have the transfer effected by the next morning. Then he spent the night reading the files (certain files had additional security on them; but the ones he wanted were unlocked) and grinning in the pale light of his computer monitor.   
  
That was phase one completed. Now Arthur would move onto phase two.  
  
***   
  
The second phase began in this way: Arthur, friendly, making good-natured jokes about American beers and spirits, was having lunch with Professor Jones - and a whole group of other students. The Academy’s “cafeteria” was a luxurious, airy, spacious and well-lit dining area staffed by five-star chefs and silent, efficient waiters in coat-and-tails. And Professor Jones’ table was always full; but he always made room for Arthur.   
  
Five minutes before the bell rang for end of class, Arthur observed aloud that Professor Jones had finished his drink. He offered to pour him something from his monogrammed, silver-plated flask. Alfred raised a quizzical eyebrow, but grinned in delight when he sniffed at the glass where Arthur had poured, and realized it was his own favorite drink. He drank a toast to everyone’s health.   
  
Ten minutes later, Arthur (having skipped his maths class) was waiting in the hallway where, he knew (he knew Jones’ schedule and habits very well, to the point of disturbing Francis) Jones would soon be walking by on the way to his office. Sure enough, within a few seconds he could hear Jones coming down the hallway - but no bouncy, confident stride was this. Jones was staggering, weaving, leaning on the walls. He didn’t notice Arthur in the alcove, and Arthur was able to follow him quietly a ways down the empty hall until Jones leaned against the wall, gave a little whimper that Arthur would be replaying in his dreams, and quietly slid down into a crumpled heap.   
  
Arthur was thorough. He had thought ahead. He had fetched a wheelchair from the infirmary and into the black-and-silver thing he shoved the taller male, and wheeled him into Arthur’s room.   
  
And this was the end of the second phase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually, what Arthur’s doing is severely illegal and horrible, but for the sake of the story I hope you suspend disbelief and judgment. I do not, I repeat, do NOT, condone this behavior in real life.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: this is the chapter with dub/non-con, and sexual content. I emphasize that this is not behavior I view as even the slightest bit justifiable in real life.
> 
> When I originally wrote this, it had been to distract myself from the anxieties of a job interview. Is writing anthromorphized countries smut a good coping mechanism for stomach-churning fear? I have my doubts. But I hope you guys enjoy this nonetheless.
> 
> I am actually really tempted to change the ending, and am currently pondering what to do.

Alfred began his slow journey back towards the lands of the conscious, swimming up through a sea of glass, full of distorted light and dimmed sounds. The first thing he was aware of was pleasure - quiet ripples of sweet flame in his veins, throbbing with the beats of his heart - and he came more fully awake with the sound of his own throaty moan. 

He blink dazed, hazed eyes and there was a blurred shape - his glasses were off - very close, and he blinked again and registered gold, green, black and white - the green of emeralds, the gold of shore-sand - black and white, he realized, as the girls’ uniform of the Academy, white top and skirt of black plaid, and a black necktie round the collar. He blinked again, and again, and slowly the image resolved into a cohesive, impossible whole.

Because, surely, Arthur Kirkland sitting in his lap, dressed in a too-small schoolgirl’s uniform, was impossible? 

Arthur smiled a slow, hot smile like the red edge of embers. He threaded a hand through Alfred’s hair, leaned in close and kissed the other male - soft, sweet, chastely close-mouthed. This was in direct contrast to the way he tightened his fingers around Alfred’s achingly swollen cock - and Alfred only just now realizing that his pants were open, and Arthur’s slender hand in his boxers, and that Arthur had been stroking him all along, that the ripples of pleasure had been Arthur’s fingers dancing lightly over his erection - and _squeezed_. 

Alfred yelped, and realized that yes, this was no dream. 

*** 

Arthur smirked as Alfred’s eyes fluttered open, those thick dark lashes making pretty shadows on his cheeks. He ghosted his fingertips over Alfred’s erection, enjoying feeling it grow under his touch, the little sighs of pleasure that had escaped Alfred as Arthur played him in his sleep. 

Alfred studied him with half-lidded eyes, darker-than-the-sky gaze sweeping up and down Arthur, and Arthur shivered as if the looking had been a physical touch. He couldn’t tell if the glaze over them was from sleep or pleasure, but he liked the look nonetheless. He leaned forward and kissed Alfred as he’d been wanting to do for weeks, squeezing the impressive erection in his hand as he did so. And then he smirked as Alfred yelped, and as understanding flooded those blue, blue eyes. 

He gave Alfred another squeeze, and then a long, firm upstroke with his hand curled around the straining shaft. He was pleased, as he took his hand away, to hear the little whine his withdrawal had caused. 

_’I’ve got him now!’_

He stood up, took a couple of steps back so that Alfred - wide-eyed awake now, and panting softly - could see him. And he was a sight. (Arthur did not believe in false modesty). He knew what Alfred was seeing as those dilated-dark blue eyes swept over Arthur: long pale legs, smooth as silk (he’d shaved them) and a tiny skirt - more nano than micro - that barely skimmed the tops of his thighs; white blouse, unbuttoned halfway down; the black tie looped loose round the collar; the inviting smile on his face. He looked like something straight out of one of Alfred’s favorite sexual fantasies.

He _knew_ he did. He’d looked through all the porn Eduard had found on Alfred’s laptop, and schoolgirls sucking off their teachers - schoolgirls bending over and begging to be punished - schoolgirls wailing as their teachers took them from behind, and in front, and below, and then again - those were all there. And so were schoolboys, and boys dressed up like girls, and Arthur had gotten them to see where Alfred's tastes lay, and he was glad to see Alfred's tastes lay stretched out on both ends, just like Arthur’s own. Really, it had been for pure recce, but Arthur had ended up stroking himself, purring as he did his research, and he’d climaxed twice (washing his hands after, of course) while paging through Alfred's collection. Alfred had a very nice collection. 

And Alfred was staring at him, his jaw hanging open slightly, his eyes wide and dilated, and a flush was creeping up his neck to stain his cheeks a ruddy, ready red. 

Arthur smirked, let his gaze fall down to Alfred’s lap, where the evidence of his interest jutted forth, proud and rampant as a stallion. He licked his lips unconsciously. 

He knelt between Alfred’s legs, spread apart and held apart, and spoke. And as he spoke his head was pillowed on Alfred’s thigh, so that he could study Alfred’s manhood at leisure, and the hot, wet puffs of his breath misted over the hard flesh. 

“Do you want me to lick you?” For the sake of example, he licked a long wet stripe up Alfred’s erection. 

“Ah...!” 

“You do? Well, all right.” Grinning, he suited action to word and began lapping at Alfred like a kitten given a saucer of cream. Small flicks of his tongue, then long, broad strokes up to the crown, his tongue licking round and poking into the slit, and then back down again. 

“Ah...ah...ohhhhh...” 

“Do you want me to suck you?” he asked, in between long, wet licks. 

“Ah... _ahhh_....” 

“That sounded like a yes to me,” Arthur told him, grinning again (he couldn’t seem to stop) as he wrapped his lips around the tip of Alfred’s cock and suckled softly, his tongue pressing gently against the little slit. Alfred keened and tried to buck his hips. 

Slowly, ever  _so_ slowly, Arthur took more of Alfred into his mouth with every bob of his head, sucked a little harder - in direct proportion to how loudly Alfred cried out. Soon he was deepthroating his teacher, humming a little song with his tongue pressed flat against the slick, blood-hot flesh, and Alfred was trying to writhe in the chair he was cuffed to, crying aloud with every movement of Arthur’s mouth, his head thrown back. 

Arthur peered up at him from under his lashes, and happily tucked the image away into his memory. Damn, but Alfred was gorgeous like this! Arthur could feel his own erection throbbing in between his legs, making an obscene bulge under the tiny skirt. 

When Alfred came, he screamed Arthur’s name, and Arthur jerked, and moaned around the hardness in his mouth, so that Alfred’s seed spilled carelessly from the open lips, running in sticky white trails down Arthur’s chin. 

He opened his eyes, panting around the flesh still in his mouth, and realized to his shocked mortification that he’d just come - come without even touching himself. Slowly, he looked up, Alfred still sprawled in the chair, loose-limbed and panting, his head lolling bonelessly. 

Alfred, after long moments of not-quite-silence - full of heavy breathing and the metallic clink of the cuffs as they swung gently against the chair - opened his eyes and stared at Arthur. 


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur stared at Alfred.  
  
Alfred stared at Arthur.

  
And then, blue eyes began to glimmer wetly, a much-bitten lower lip began to tremble, and Alfred burst into tears.

  
Arthur scrambled to his feet, the hazy afterglow of his unexpected orgasm evaporating as quickly and neatly as rubbing-alcohol on a hot surface. His heart skipped, thudded and jarred, then sank quickly into the cold, hollow pit that had used to be his stomach. He actually wrung his hands.

  
He’d made Alfred cry. He’d made Alfred _cry_.   
  
He danced in place with nervous movements, shifting from foot to foot, ignoring the cum trailing down his chin and thighs. His Adam’s apple, still not fully showing, bobbed in his pale throat as he tried and failed to find words to address the situation with. And in the meantime, Alfred sat in the chair, head bowed so that his chin brushed his chest, and wept.   
  
Arthur felt answering tears pricking at his own eyes. His memory flashed snapshots of the previous year - Alfred ruffling his hair, more genuine affection in that touch than in any before given to Arthur, Arthur with his mother dead at his birth, and his brothers hating him for that birth - Alfred slinging Arthur’s arm across Alfred’s broad shoulders and guiding him back to his dorm when drink made Arthur’s steps uncertain - Alfred sitting beside him in his office, their heads bent close together as Alfred, with a patience frankly incredible after seeing him in everyday life, guided Arthur through the mysteries of Newton’s Three Laws, and the complex ways that each little square in the table of elements was related to other little squares - Alfred meeting Arthur’s eyes in the cafeteria and grinning, waving him over to sit by him - Alfred smiling, Alfred laughing, Alfred tripping over untied shoelaces, Alfred, Alfred, Alfred, and Arthur realized at that moment - too late - that he’d been happy.   
  
And now, he’d slain that happiness with his own hand. Alfred wept for what Arthur had done to him, and Arthur realized, with a sick feeling, that he’d never see Alfred smile at him again - that there would be no more invitations to study in the big, messy office - that he’d have to find his own way home at night, from now on, with no shoulder to lean on - and he began to cry too. It should have been raining, he thought vaguely, and there should be mud for him to kneel in - mud to rub in his face - he deserved it.   
  
“...horrible person!” he vaguely heard Alfred sob, and he agreed with all his heart. He was a horrible person, and he deserved jail - he deserved beatings. He would instantly turn himself over to the police. He would hire the most expensive lawyer to make sure he was punished and that Alfred was untouched. He would...  
  
“I’m a horrible, horrible person!” Alfred sobbed, and Arthur paused. Surely he hadn’t heard "_I_."  
  
Alfred raised his head, looked at Arthur. Arthur, his eyes very wide, looked back. Alfred’s gaze lingered on the white mess around Arthur’s mouth and he began to cry again.   
  
“I’m....! You poor thing! I’m so sorry, Arthur...!”   
  
Arthur swayed in place and felt that something had gone very very wrong here.   
  
“Alfred...?” he said, questioning, hesitant, forgetting to call him Jones and calling him by his first name as he had been doing in his head ever since Francis had told him that he called Professor Jones more familiarly. 

“I’ve seduced my student! What kind of teacher does that?! I’ve led you astray!”  
  
Arthur gaped.   
  
“I...I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to lead you on like this,” Alfred said, gulping for air. “It’s just, you’re so - so gorgeous, and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I wanted you... I promise, I didn’t start out like this! I just wanted to be friends - really I did...and then you began to smile back at me, and...and...” He bit his lip and Arthur felt very bad about automatically tucking the image into the back of his mind for later reflection.

“How did you find out? How did you -- I tried not to show it. I thought it was okay if we - if we sat together at lunch, that was all right, wasn’t it?”   
  
“Alfred....”  
  
“You didn’t have to do this!” Alfred told him, and Arthur realized with sick shock that Alfred - Alfred, who he’d tied up and sexually assaulted - Alfred was trying to comfort him. “Did you do this because you worried about your grades? I - when I tutored you - I didn’t mean you had to pay me back or anything! I just....I mean, you’re really smart and you could be doing so much better, and I - I just liked to...spend time...did you know your eyes get brighter when you get something, like really _get_ it? No, I’m sorry, forget I said that. Did I - did I - when I was drunk, did I ever say anything to you...”  
  
Arthur remembered nights when Alfred sat beside him in the pub that every student had fake IDs for, because the students of the Academy were not governed by the same rules of their peers and teachers were not concerned for their drinking. He remember Alfred matching him drink for drink, insisting only that his drinks were chilled because he hated warm beer, but had Alfred been drunk then? He had seemed so steady, so bright, so unaffected by the alcohol that had knocked Arthur down and made him slur his words.   
And he had thought he’d imagined Alfred’s hand lingering on him then, but that was the most - not even a caress, just a warm hand on his shoulder, and it had been worth a smile the next day even through the hangover. If Alfred had ever hinted he’d been interested in more, Arthur knew he would have had the American in his rooms that same night.   
  
“No,” Arthur said, tried to say, because Alfred was talking again.  
  
“Please don’t - the police -- I know I deserve it for lusting after one of my own students, but my family - my brother, he....he doesn’t deserve to be linked to this -- please! I swear I’ve never done this before. I’ll never do it again! I have some money....I can pay you - I’ll quit, I’ll go away, I promise, I’ll do anything, just don’t...”  
  
Pay him? Go away? Behind the shock and the self-recrimination, an anger began to grow in Arthur. How dare - how dare this overgrown idiot assume Arthur was to be manipulated into blowing people! Alfred thought he’d seduced Arthur? The big lug was the most unseductive moron he’d ever seen! Arthur had done all the seducing around here!   
  
So he crawled into Alfred’s lap and kissed him, hard and harsh. That finally shut him up.  
  
And then when they drew away Arthur raged at him, tears trailing down his face as they had trailed down at Alfred’s. He explained exactly what manner of fool and to what degree Alfred Jones was, and that all his knowledge of stars and science had pushed out everything else in his too-large head. He told Alfred, fists clenched into the shirt-front, that Arthur Kirkland did everything because he decided to and not because he feared anyone - especially not him, idiot that he was! He told Alfred that he had all the seductive skills and sophistication of a puppy-dog, and all the intelligence as well, and it was he, Arthur Kirkland, who had made Alfred writhe in desire, and he was proud of that and he would thank Alfred not to take any of the credit.

He finished by telling Alfred, his eyesight blurred with tears, that he was not allowed to leave Arthur alone, ever, and that he would not belittle Arthur’s love by thinking it forced.   


That last slipped out, forced by the flood of angry words that had preceded it, and Arthur was as shocked by Alfred - and more shocked by the realization that he meant it - that he meant it with every fiber of his being and every beat of his heart.

Alfred had said nothing of love. But he had caused it, with every smile and every concerned inquiry and every effort he made to help Arthur, and Arthur didn’t care if he only wanted his body - well, he did care, he cared more than was healthy, as Francis would say - but he would settle for that, because he wanted Alfred any way he could get him.

And Alfred, still gaping, but with a growing brightness in his eyes, had smiled and begun to say something but again Arthur interrupted him with a hard kiss, all tongues and hungry nibbles at that lower lip that had been trembling earlier. When it was over, Arthur spread his legs wider and shoved his re-awakened erection against Alfred’s belly.   
  
“See? See what you do to me? Do you think I get like _this_ because I want higher grades in physics, you wank... _uh_!”   
  
Alfred had reached down and slipped his hand under Arthur’s skirt. (And later on Arthur would wonder when and how Alfred had slipped his cuffs)  
  
“I love you too,” Alfred told Arthur, smiling wider than Arthur had ever seen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was the original ending, but this isn't the end. Next chapter should explain a few things.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been five years since I began writing “Bad Boy” and my writing and views on the world have changed since then. (Not necessarily for the better). 
> 
> I originally really did mean for Alfred to actually be that dense. I originally wrote Bad Boy for trying out a new writing style and a bit of a joke ending, which was the last chapter (the seduced teacher blaming himself when it was clearly all Arthur's idea). 
> 
> But I find myself favoring a more cynical Alfred nowadays, and also having more trouble than before with Arthur’s actions. So I wrote this new ending for Alfred to have a bit more agency and choice, and also to open the door for him to dominate Arthur. 
> 
> You can ignore this chapter if you like, since it is really an afterthought, that is, thought of after the rest of the story was written and finished.

_**Four months later...** _

Alfred came awake slowly, yawning, feeling a pleasantly strained ache in his muscles and groin, a syrup-thick satiation deep in his bones. He stretched luxuriantly, his motions causing the boy snuggled against his bare body to make a strangely adorable sleepy noise and stir slightly.

Alfred was, as had become usual, in Arthur’s bed. He’d moved into Arthur’s so-called “dorm-room”, actually, but to accommodate (and perhaps impress?) Alfred, Arthur had ordered his already-huge quarters further enlarged. The student in the dorm-room next to Arthur’s had vacated the premises, Arthur having persuaded him it would be in his own best interests to do so. He’d then hired a crack team of contractors, people so skilled with wood and concrete and all sort of construction materials and techniques that they should have been called artists really, who had knocked down the walls separating the two dorms and rapidly (but thoroughly) transformed the other dorm into another part of Arthur’s own, doing it so well that it seemed like the other area had always been part of Arthur's.

The end result was Alfred now had his own room, with an en-suite bathroom (filled with toys like water guns and tiny ships and radio-controlled submarines) and a study/lab with scientific equipment that would not have looked out of place at CERN. As a professor of the Academy, he still had his own quarters on the grounds, as did every professor, and they really were quite nice. But they were not a patch, of course, on the living space of Arthur Kirkland, heir to the Kirkland Group.

So he stayed there. He looked around himself again, admiring the dark oak paneling and tasteful appointments of Arthur’s bedroom, moving his limbs a little just to feel the smooth decadence of Arthur’s Egyptian cotton bedsheets (“1020-thread count, darling, how can you sleep on anything less after this? Not that our beds will ever have anything less, of course.”) He heard a quiet, discreet click off in Arthur’s small but complete kitchen, knew it was the thousand-dollar coffee-maker Arthur had installed shortly after Alfred had moved in, and that it was making the cup of espresso he had programmed it to have ready in time for breakfast, and that it would be much better than any coffee he’d had previous to meeting Arthur: made with exquisite, hand-sorted, expertly-roasted coffee beans from a tiny and secretive private coffee plantation somewhere in the Philippine highlands, where people took as much care with the soil and shade conditions as with their babies (because they were well-paid to do so), freshly ground and made with water that was automatically tested for exactly the right temperature and mineral content for the perfect cup of coffee.

Things really were different for the rich.

And not just in matters of instant renovations, expensive bedsheets and delicious coffee. No one had batted an eye when he had essentially moved into a student’s quarters, even when Arthur basically took over the entire floor of the building to make sure Alfred was “comfortable”. In fact, they had mildly commiserated with him; some even cautiously and very subtly asked questions and said things that sort of meant “If he’s forcing you, there are ways to leave, if you’re careful.”

Like he was an abused girlfriend. Like - well, like if his rapist was forcing Alfred to be with him.

Things really were different for the rich, and for the children of the rich, who were destined to be rich themselves. And these were not just rich kids, many of whom were, of course, spoiled and feckless creatures, their natural talents and minds rotted into vicious entitlement and lazy uselessness. No - the Academy was very exclusive. It was too exclusive for mere connections and wealth to guarantee a place. Every student there was intelligent and capable, competence sharpened by abundant resources and high-level competition, growing up in privileged but Byzantine circumstances with backstabbing politics, inheritance considerations, and corporate espionage inhaled with their mothers’ (or wet-nurse’s, or formula, if their high-powered mothers were too busy to breast-feed) milk: the actual “leaders of tomorrow” with no hyberbole.

And if these students decided they were sexually attracted to a teacher, fewer obstacles stood in their way than for most of their age-peers. And if the teachers did not feel the same way, well - there could be consequences for that teacher.

And for the other side of it, for teachers who had unrequited feelings, well. The Academy screened all their staff very highly. Even the janitors were screened. And...

There had been a case, once. A teacher, a teenage girl, mutual desires turning into the girl wanting to leave and the teacher disagreeing. There had been an incident in an empty classroom.

The teacher had been killed in an automobile accident shortly thereafter. The police investigation concluded he had been driving drunk. The girl had gone to therapy, then to university, and was currently a vice president in her family’s company. She had recently been named one of the most powerful women in the world, and her individual net-worth placed her in the top hundred globally.

The thing was, Alfred did like Arthur. He had liked him from first glance. And it really had started as wanting to help, wanting to ease the too-obvious dysfunctions in Arthur’s life, his stand-offishness, his deliberate self-sabotage, his incipient alcoholism and the fine line he was drawing with the drugs, his carefully hidden intelligence and sensitivity. And why he had known all that about one student, why he paid so much attention and could see so much, and why Arthur had begun making his way into Alfred’s dreams, well...

It had become worse when Arthur suddenly decided Alfred was desirable, too. He would drape that nubile teenage body all over Alfred, running those pale, slender hands up and down Alfred’s chest and through his hair, unbuttoning Alfred’s shirt with such graceful, slow elegance that sometimes Alfred would button his shirt up wrong on purpose, so Arthur would come and redo the buttons for him. Alfred fled into the protection of bright blind incomprehension, a deliberate blissful ignorance of Arthur’s seductive words and movements. He hid behind sparkling eyes and childlike smiles and a determinedly cheerful demeanor where everything went over his head.

But it was hard. Arthur was hard to ignore, hard to avoid, hard to not desire. Once, Alfred fled the Academy, filed for a week’s leave. He flew to New York, stayed with old school friends, drank himself stupid like he never could in front of his students, fucked a different one-night stand every night and it was never enough, it was never good enough, and it was always green-eyed beauties, golden-haired Britons, always someone who reminded him of Arthur but never enough to take the edge off.

When he got back, Arthur was caught between sulking and smiling because he’d missed Alfred, and he made the most adorable scowl. That was when Alfred realized he was in too deep for mere sexual attraction, and he despaired.

***

Eduard tried to hack his computer. Alfred was actually mildly impressed at the attempt, but Alfred himself had hacked the NSA at age 12 and his probes still sat, undetected, atop the NSA’s vast repository of data, giving Alfred way too much information for his own good, and so Eduard never really had a chance. Alfred had hacked him in return, and found the emails where he and Arthur had discussed their arrangement.

It gave Alfred an idea.

He deliberately moved his porn onto an unprotected partition on his laptop, deliberately left it unlocked and unguarded during his classes with the Estonian boy.

He hadn’t quite expected the date-rape drug, but he supposed he should have. In any case he’d wired Arthur’s suite with video cameras, covert and powered by tiny isandium batteries of Alfred’s own design, completely undetectable. And the footage, once he’d gotten his hands on it, was dynamite - he’d been wheeled into Arthur’s rooms, clearly unconscious and drugged, and Arthur had been the clear instigator, with ropes and knots and him changing into that schoolgirl uniform clearly under his own power...

And then, Alfred’s performance at the end. He’d looked absolutely piteous, completely without agency - crying and sobbing like a helpless child. Exactly as he’d planned. Alfred, child prodigy that he had been, had earned his degrees very young, was only a few years older than his students and with boyish looks to top, so he had actually looked younger than Arthur in some ways, in that video. Really he’d thought he was hamming it up perhaps a bit too much, but it had worked...

It was exactly what Alfred had wanted - Arthur would one day be a very important, very public figure, and footage of this sort was insurance of the very best kind against a rich boy’s reprisals against his teacher-lover. But he hadn’t expected the love confession.

He hadn’t expected to tell Arthur he loved him, too.

He hadn’t expected to mean it so very much.

 

***

Alfred wasn’t so much ambitious as he was completely and thoroughly convinced of his own merits. He was a genius, this he knew with sharp-eyed objectivity. He could do things with technology and science that would literally revolutionize the world. More than that, he was savvy enough to know he wanted to keep control of his own inventions and innovations, and to do that he needed power and capital and money. Lots of those three. And he was cheerfully amoral in what he would do to get it. He stayed away from outright criminality only because the potential risks and loss of legitimacy, especially considered in the long run, were too chancy to play with.

 

He had come to the Academy intending to make contacts. Alfred was, by nature, friendly, gregarious and charming, but he turned it up to eleven for these kids, these highly valuable potential resources and allies. But he had truly liked some - Francis, so stylish and fashionable and wise beyond his years; quiet, intense little Kiku, who was so polite until it came to demanding heals for his Paladin in a fifty-person raid; Eduard, even if he had tried to hack him...

 

...and Arthur. Of course, Arthur. Arthur, for whom he would give up even his dreams of power.

 

He’d told Arthur about his video a month into their relationship, more amazed at himself for not being able to live with it any longer, for wanting to be honest and wanting to stop lying to the boy he was truly and deeply in love with, than he was surprised when Arthur only laughed in delight and seemed more in love with Alfred than ever.

Alfred would give up his dreams for Arthur, but Arthur only loved him the more for having them.

 

***

Years and years later, through careful PR manuevering, destruction of records, hacking, and outright bribes and blackmail, the story as the public knew it was this: Alfred F. Jones, the young billionaire founder/owner of the tech industry giant Joker Inc. (“We are the Wildcard - we can do anything you need us to.”) had met Arthur Kirkland, the even younger heir to the Kirkland Group, at some business function, and they had either fallen in love or made a cynical if brilliant business alliance.

In either case, they had made the amazingly symbolic decision to have their wedding the same day their lawyers finalized all the merger documents for their two companies. (Francis Bonnefoy demanded, and received, the contract for designing and producing all the clothes for the wedding party. He also unofficially but completely took over all the wedding planning, telling his two friends that they had all the taste of three-year-old children of the unartistic, that is to say, none - for he himself was quite artistic by that age - and that their caterers and planners were hardly better. The wedding, by the way, was a great success and much admired in all the society papers.)

They were an unassailable juggernaut in industry for as long as they lived, the scourge of competitors, the foilers of assassination and espionage plots directed against them, the darlings of the media, and soon enough the two richest men in the world.

And they lived happily ever after. Not necessarily morally ever after, but they themselves were quite happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hope you enjoyed the ride! I may write a few more side-stories in this universe, but they'll probably be rather PWPish.


End file.
